


The Tragic Tales of Malcolm Fade

by ganseys_mint_plant



Category: Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Fadethorn, Gen, M/M, Multi, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5806267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganseys_mint_plant/pseuds/ganseys_mint_plant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The High Warlock of Los Angeles faces heartbreak and immortality with a funny grin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tragic Tales of Malcolm Fade

Malcolm had saved Tiberius Blackthorn's life three times:

The first time was when Ty was nine, and had managed to anger a group of bees (the first time that had ever happened, or so he claimed). The Institute tried, but without iratzes for the young Shadowhunter, they could stop the swelling.

The second time is when Malcolm supposed his story began to intertwine with Ty's.

The boy hadn't come by the flat in need of medical attention. He came by for a book that someone had told him Malcolm had. And he did. The Fisherman's Guide to Coastal Currents, 3rd Edition. The third edition included the newly discovered information on whirlpools and undercurrents the 2nd edition lacked. Malcolm didn't question the boy's intentions or motives. He just let him in with a grand bow and flourish that had stopped Ty in his tracks.

"You're odd," Ty pointed out. Malcolm straightened up.

"We all are. Some more than others. But it's the odd ones that make history interesting, don't you think? And to be completely honest, I think you're odd too."

Ty had stared at him for a hard moment before heading for the bookshelf that ran along one wall of the massive industrial flat.

Ty looked to Malcolm to find the book. There was no organization on shelves. They were placed haphazardly with no care for author, Dewey Decimal, spine color, topic, title, alphabetical order, publication date--

Malcolm climbed the ladder to reach the top shelf about 15 feet of the ground.

"I'm afraid of heights," Ty said.

"Then it's a good thing..." He stretched to reach the book just beyond his grasp, "...this isn't your bookshelf."

He grabbed ahold of the book, tugging it out of its space among its brethren.

He descended the ladder with care, placing the book in Ty's hands.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like," Malcolm offered. "I'm going to go work on something." 

"Something like what?" Ty asked.

"A mural," Malcolm said. "Would you like to see it?"

Ty looked at the book in his hand. It represented a task to be done, a task that he had to do soon, lest he forget it. But he liked Malcolm's slight insanity and indifference to his questions and quirks.

Ty nodded.

The loft was shaped like an L, the corner of what used to be a candle factory. It still smelled slightly of Ocean Breeze but that could have just as well been the Pacific Ocean just a few blocks away. The entrance was from the top of the L and the first area was the living area, with the bookshelf being the long interior wall. As they rounded the corner, the decor gained personality and the furniture had eclectic life. The walls were painted from floor to ceiling with expansive murals or little sketches done in a matter of minutes. It was a visual overload. Ty felt as though he couldn't capture every detail.

"You're welcome as long as you'd like," Malcolm said. "But I think I'll paint. There's also another ladder down there--" He pointed toward the far end of the room where there was a bed and door to what was presumably a bathroom. A ladder was propped against the wall, "--in case you want to see anything up close."

It was almost like Malcolm could read Ty's mind and answer his questions before he had to ask; something only Livvy could achieve.

Malcolm approached a table of paints and brushes in the middle of the room as Ty walked along the wall, studying the different pictures.

Some were comical caricatures of the celebrities Ty saw on the mundane magazines and billboards. One that stood out to him was of Inquisitor Lightwood, looking particularly angry and distorted.

They weren't all funny. Most were tragic-- Romeo dying in Juliet's arms, a ghostly sketch of a gravestone, and the mural, which spread at least ten feet long was a hand against a blue background reaching out into a black. The blue faded into that darkness in a stunning display of exceptional gradient fade.

Ty smiled as he walked along the wall and eventually he did get the ladder to view the higher ones.

"Ty," Malcolm called. Ty looked down at Malcolm who was shading the bottom of the hand with a light creme brown. "I thought you were afraid of heights."

Ty's eyes widened in shock.

"I-- I didn't even notice--"

"Sometimes the view is worth the risk," Malcolm said. "It's nearly eight; you should probably go."

Ty nodded, carefully and steadily descending the ladder until he had his feet firm on the floor again.

"You can take the book home," Malcolm offered. "Just bring it back when you're done."

It was just an excuse to get Ty back.

......

The book would be unnecessary since Ty's second time in the loft would not be cause by returning the book, but rather by a series of random events that would result in Malcolm's second time saving his life.

First, Ty was walking through LA alone, lost in his head space. His feet moved on their own accord, he dropped the glamours keeping him invisible, and his brain only responded to traffic signals.

He didn't hear the taunts until they were right at his side, growling in his ear.

Then he was back into reality, The Fisherman's Guide to Coastal Currents, 3rd Edition knocked out of his hands, by two guys much larger than he was.

Ty stared at them both intently for a moment, trying to analyse their strengths and weaknesses, balancing those with possible moves they might make, rounding out his calculations with what he could do to fight back, should they attack again.

Ty bent over, picking the book up gingerly. The spine had torn a little bit. Oh, when Malcolm saw...

One of the guys grabbed at the collar of Ty's jacket. He jerked away instinctively. They started taunting him with names he didn't know, words he couldn't define but he knew they were bad because he understood body language and voice tone and he knew they hated him but he could tell why and maybe if he knew why he could stop them but at the moment, all he wanted to do was fight back. To stop being the victim.

He hit the biggest one on the nose with his elbow. He spun, connecting his foot with the smaller ones stomach. They both doubled over in pain and Ty adjusted his grip on his book before taking off running.

He could still hear their shouts. He wasn't an amazing fighter but still he should've knocked them out--

Pain ripped through his arm, and somehow, without even looking down, he knew he had been shot. He had no choice now. He glamoured himself, staggering down the street.

He had no idea where he was. There were no street signs-- only towering buildings with people coming in and out. They milled on the sidewalk like this was where they hung out on a day to day basis.

Ty let out a little whimper. He could die in this hell hole.

His phone wasn't in his pocket and he had no money, no stele. This was the kind of situations Shadowhunters were supposed to be trained for. But he'd never felt so ill-prepared. The pain was clouding his judgement but there was no way to stop that.

And if he went home, he'd never hear the end of it. Jules would never let him out of the house alone again and Livvy wouldn't leave his side for month. He finally spotted a street sign.

He was close to Malcolm's. Close enough that he could stumble there and maybe, just maybe, not die from blood loss.

His vision started to swim a block later, and he stole a glance at the sidewalk behind him, which was being marked with his blood like breadcrumbs.

He gave a little whimper and pressed on.

The apartment came into view and Ty moved with more speed. He only had to make it to the doorbell--

He pressed his palm, covered in blood, against the buzzer.

"Yello?" Malcolm cheered through the speaker.

"Help," Ty croaked. He released the button, sliding down the wall until he was seated.

Which artery had they hit? Not the carotid for sure. Then he'd really be dead. But this was too serious for just a little grazing.

The door flew open and Ty raised his eyes to meet Malcolm's deep purple ones.

"Breathe for me," Malcolm instructed, kneeling down in front of Ty. His fingers were cold as they felt for a pulse and covered in blue paint, now dried into the cracks and ridges of his skin. "Okie doke, artichoke. I'm going to get you inside." He stepped around to Ty's right side, scooping him up, careful to avoid his left arm. Ty pulled the book tighter to himself.

He carried Ty up the stairs.

Ty's vision was going darker, and darker.

"I have a spare stele," Malcolm said as he laid Ty down on the leather couch. "When you regain consciousness, you'll be able to apply iratzes yourself. I'm going to put you to sleep."

"Malcolm, I'm scared," Ty admitted.

"Don't be," Malcolm said, laying a hand on his forehead. "I'm not going to leave your side. I promise."

........

Ty woke up with the sun, pain screeching through his body, stopping and starting.

He wanted to scream but he felt too heavy to.

Malcolm was indeed by his side, curled up on the coffee table with a fleece blanket over him. He was using a stack of magazines as a pillow.

"Mal," Ty croaked. His eyes flew open immediately and he sat up robotically.

"Let me get you some water and that stele," Malcolm said. He disappeared from sight, only to appear seconds later with everything he had promised. He sat Ty up and Ty saw the bandages covering his shoulder for the first time. He also hadn't realized that his shirt had been removed. He hadn't even thought of that.

But now that was all he could think about as he drew iratzes across his skin. Malcolm didn't seem to be watching him though but rather the paintings on the walls.

"Do they make you sad?"

"What?" Malcolm asked. Ty set the stele aside, reaching for the water.

"The paintings. Do they make you sad?"

"Not the paintings themselves," Malcolm said. "But the reasons why I painted them make me sad."

Ty followed Malcolm's eyes, watching the walls, trying to guess what could have inspired him to paint the tragedies and the comedies.

"I should call my siblings," Ty said.

"I already did," Malcolm said. "I told them you were in the middle of baking the world's largest strawberry-banana birthday cake and that you might be home a little late."

"I don't think there's such thing as strawberry-banana cake," Ty pointed out.

"With that attitude there isn't."

Ty frowned.

While he was all logic, Malcolm was silliness. And Ty rather liked that.

.........

Ty spent the next three days pacing the roof of the Institute, only coming down for meals and sleeping. It worried Livvy to death when he got in this state.

When he was on the roof, so was she, reading while he paced. She wasn't the type to waste her time but she wasn't going to leave him alone.

His thoughts were centered on Malcolm Fade. His wittiness. His strange books. His paintings. His apartment. His mysteriousness.

The way he felt towards Malcolm wasn't like how he liked Livvy. Livvy was his rock. Malcolm felt more like a buoy in the sense that while Livvy brought him back down to earth, Malcolm lifted him up but still made him feel secure.

"I think I'm in love," Ty announced as the sun was beginning to set one day. Livvy looked up from her book.

"With who?"

"Malcolm Fade."

"The guy you baked the cake with?" Livvy asked.

Ty had forgotten all about the lie.

"Yes," he said, nodding.

"I don't want to shoot down your dreams or anything but he's the High Warlock of LA," Livvy said. "He's kind of out of your league."

Ty shook his head. "I think he actually liked me."

"Okay," Livvy said, standing up. She walked over to Ty, putting his hands on his arms, capturing his attention. "Okay." She believed him. She understood him.

"I'm going to sleep," Ty said.

"You probably should."

........

Malcolm was painting in the white reflection of the sunlight on the index finger when the door to the apartment creaked open. He knew it would be Ty. No one else visited him anymore.

Magnus and Cat were caught up in the high life of New York and they were the only ones he considered friends.

It was amazing how you could fall in the span of a century.

"Hello?"

"Ty!" Malcolm cheered, descending the ladder. He left the palette and brushes at the top of the ladder. He jumped from about five rungs high, landing sprightly on his feet.

Ty stood just in front of him.

"Have you ever been in love?" Ty asked.

"Yes," Malcolm said, carefully. Her face flashed in the back of his mind and he smiled to shoo it away.

"Are you in love right now?"

"What an odd question."

"Are you?" Ty pressed.

Love wasn't yes or no in his mind. Love was a process with stages. You could be in love but not completely and utterly infatuated. You could be in love, and possess a strong resentment for an ex-lover. Love never really did end once it began.

"Yes," Malcolm admitted. He was intrigued by the Nephilim boy in front of him. He was odd like Malcolm and in need of love like Malcolm. And those two things were enough for Malcolm to have developed a crush.

"Who?"

"You."

"Me?"

"You," Malcolm confirmed. "Though, I don't think you're surprised by that. I'm nice to everyone, but I've been particularly nice to you. I like you a lot. I like you more than Icarus liked the idea of flying. I like you more I like my paintings. I like you more than a lot of things like a lot of things."

"I've never been in a relationship before," Ty said.

"I have," Malcolm said, carefully.

"Did you love them like you love me?"

"You're different, Ty. You will be something new entirely," Malcolm said, putting a hand on Ty's cheek. "And that is the most thrilling thing in the world to me."

And this was the third time Malcolm Fade saved Tiberius Blackthorn's life.

He saved Ty from a life that could have been destined for loneliness and dullness; Malcolm would ensure a lifetime of excitement. Out of 7 billion humans, a thousand Nephilim, and an infinite number of Downworlders, Malcolm Fade had managed to find the one person more interesting and odd than himself.

And between the experiments that would ensue, the paintings that would take months to create, and late night debates together, he was sure they could save themselves from the condemnation of a boring life.


End file.
